


remember the glow

by ohtempora



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: Cody's taking advantage of the empty apartment to smoke shirtless on the couch.Look—the baseball season's a grind.He hooked his phone up to the speakers and put the Food Network on the television, muted, cracked a window. Sun is spilling in through the blinds and they don't have to be at the park until mid-afternoon tomorrow. It's the perfect weekday off.





	remember the glow

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> this is very dumb but i truly enjoy that they're roommates. chris taylor looks like a void and cody bellinger is shaped like a ruler! how amazing. ty to kate for checking this over, and everyone on my tlist who had to listen to me talk, like, at all, about baseball.

By now, Cody figures Chris has lived with him long enough that expectations are low. Triple-A, with four dudes to one apartment and everything that entailed, then the upgrade to a nicer, cleaner place for the two of them when they both hit the bigs.  
  
The incomplete list of mediocre shit Cody has done as a roommate includes:  
  
\- a loud hookup when he knew Chris's headphones were broken  
\- being better than Chris at every video game he brings home  
\- that whole thing with the mop and the bucket back in OKC  
\- once he managed to melt cheese all over the stove and left it for a solid 36 hours because they had a game  
  
And Chris still signed a lease with him, various threats about the security deposit aside.  
  
Mostly, it's good. They watch movies while lazing around on the couch and have similar tastes in takeout and Cody doesn't care about Chris constantly stealing his hoodies like he doesn't have his own team-issued stack at the bottom of the closet.

Chris went out to buy groceries, because their food supply is running dangerously low, even considering how many meals they eat at the clubhouse. Cody's taking advantage of the empty apartment to smoke shirtless on the couch.

Look—the baseball season's a grind.

He hooked his phone up to the speakers and put the Food Network on the television, muted, cracked a window. Sun is spilling in through the blinds and they don't have to be at the park until mid-afternoon tomorrow. It's the perfect weekday off.

He’s not sure when Chris comes back or how long it’s been. At least a couple episodes of _Beat Bobby Flay,_  and his playlist looped around once. But he hears the door open, and then Chris groans and says, “Really, dude?”

Cody sets his bowl carefully on the coffee table.

“Day off,” he says, and tips his head back so he can look at Chris. Chris’s glare looks a lot less intimidating upside down.

“I thought we agreed only edibles on the couch.” Chris sets the groceries down on the floor. “Or, at least open more than one window.”

Cody arches his back even further. The couch cushions compress under his shoulderblades. It’s nice, and he does it again. “Sorry,” he says. “I tried.”

He isn’t that sorry, he didn’t try that hard, and from the exasperated noise Chris makes, it’s gotta be obvious. Cody sits up and grabs the pipe. “I can share,” he says.

“There’s ice cream in the grocery bag,” Chris says. “Lemme put it away. And then yes.”

This is probably why they’ve lasted as roommates as long as they have. Cody can make it up to Chris later, when he isn’t stoned, go pick up dinner or whatever. Chris disappears with his groceries into the kitchen, and when he comes out he yanks at Cody’s legs until there’s room on the couch for both of them.

Cody passes the lighter and pipe over, watches Chris take a couple of hits. The tension bleeds out of his shoulders, and they sit for a moment.

“Your playlist sucks,” Chris says eventually.

“Fuck you, I don’t wanna listen to your hipster shit.” Cody takes the lighter back and turns it over in his hands. He’s like, pretty damn high now. Almost there. “You want more?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “You got a head start.”

That’s true, if not on purpose; this was Cody’s plan for the day no matter what. Chris just interrupted him.

“Belli,” Chris sighs. “Give it, come on.”  
  
"No no no," Cody says and giggles; he's got the best idea, the best fucking idea. He’s floating, and it’s the best. He wants Chris to get to float too.  "C'mere. You gotta get on my level."  
  
"Belli," Chris says again, voice syrupy and slower. "What. Yes."

“Come here,” Cody says, enunciating—it’s hard to enunciate right now—and Chris leans in towards him. Cody takes a hit, then presses his mouth against Chris's, exhales. Chris pulls away from him and blows the smoke out, lips pursed into an O.

“More?” Cody flicks the lighter on and off a couple times. “You want?”

“Yeah.” Chris blinks a couple times, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. His beard scratched Cody’s face, some, but it wasn’t sandpaper-rough. “Fuck, you’re so high.”

“I am,” Cody agrees. It’s great. He’s trying to get Chris on his level. They’ve smoked up together before, but it’s not a regular thing. “Alright.” He inhales, brushes their mouths together, exhales. Chris blows the smoke out again, then turns back to him. They’re so close together. Cody can see each of Chris’s individual eyelashes, the dark fleck in the iris of his eye.

“Do you—” Cody swallows. “Want one more.”

Chris nods.

Cody lifts the pipe to his lips, sucks in the smoke. Chris is inches from him. He’s staring right at Cody’s mouth.

This time when he leans in he doesn’t think—he wraps his hand around the back of Chris’s neck, feeling the short hairs at Chris’s nape under his fingertips, and Chris inhales, then turns towards him until his lips touch Cody’s cheek.

For a moment neither of them breathe.

Then Cody giggles, breaking up the silence, and Chris’s lips curl back. He’s still watching Cody’s face, his pupils blown. On the occasions they’ve done this before, Chris always gets quiet. Quieter. Cody has to fill up the space in between them, crowd Chris in. Sometimes he does it physically, drapes himself across Chris or pokes at him with his toes, and sometimes he talks too much, makes noise just to hear it.   

“Hey,” Cody says. “Do you wanna make out?”

“What?

He wants to, wants to see what Chris’s beard will feel like scratching against his cheeks. He says as much, and Chris looks at him for a long, searching moment before shrugging.

“Sure,” he says. “Fuck it.”

This is a new activity for them, kissing high, different than lying on top of each other watching movies, and yet somehow similar. Chris’s mouth tastes like smoke, and he opens up for Cody easy. His beard is softer than expected, and Cody kisses back for a while, enjoys how soft Chris’s mouth is and the rub of it against his chin. Maybe he’ll have beard burn when they pull apart. Chris shifts closer so they have a better angle, and Cody grabs onto his shoulder.

Kissing like this, they lose track of time. At some point Chris knocks him flat on his back on the couch, but it’s okay, getting something solid underneath him, having Chris’s weight press him down. Cody runs his hands over Chris’s back and closes his eyes again. Everything is slowed down, unlike his last couple hookups. Nothing about this is dirty or rushed.

God, he’s so high.

Eventually he realizes that Chris is rutting against him, that he’s arching into it, and he’s getting turned on. They’ve been kissing long enough that Cody’s mouth is sore and he’s chased the smoky taste from Chris’s lips. Chris’s dick is against his thigh— that’s so weird, that’s Chris’s dick, right there, like— Cody did that. He’s hard too.

“Cody?” Chris asks, and Cody realizes that he’s stopped kissing back.

“Uh—sorry.” Cody leans up and brushes their mouths together. Chris lets him, and again they’re moving against each other, Cody could lose himself in it, except now that he knows he’s hard all he wants is to thrust against Chris, get friction on his dick.

He does it then on accident, moans way too loud, and they both freeze.

“Sorry,” Cody says. “Sorry, sorry—”

“No, it's,” Chris says, and he circles his hips down, once. It’s so good with purpose behind it that Cody moans again.

They slip back into kissing, but the nylon of his athletic shorts is almost torture, slipping over his erection. Cody’s gonna need to do something about that soon, suddenly more aware of his body, the heat gathering at the base of his spine.

“Chris,” he says, finally, gathering up as much of himself as he can. “I, uh. Can you. I’m—”

“Yeah?”

“Just,” Cody says, and waves a hand down at the general direction of his crotch. He doesn’t want to get up, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up either.

“Oh.” Chris shrugs. “I mean, I wanna get off too.” He looks back at Cody’s face. “You can stay or go, but—”

He moves his hand down and cups the ridge of his cock through his shorts. Cody can tell Chris is as stoned as he is, maybe more. Maybe that's why he makes a decision, on impulse. Stays.

“Okay,” Cody says, and squirms closer. Two is better than one, right? If Chris is on board, that’s way better than jerking off alone.  “Okay.” He lifts his hips and pushes his own shorts down, letting them fall off the couch and onto the floor. He wants to put his hands all over Chris, explore. He’s familiar with the curves of Chris’s body but he hasn’t really touched.  There's a strip of dark hair visible where Chris’s shirt rode up, and he wants to brush his fingers over it, get his mouth on the bare skin of Chris's hip. He can see the edge of sharp tan lines from the last time they went to Venice Beach, and taut muscle, and Cody reaches out and brushes his fingertip along Chris’s waistband.

Chris shivers.

“Dude,” Cody says, and presses his hand flat over Chris's stomach. This way he can feel it when Chris inhales, sharp and shallow, can push down Chris’s shorts inch by inch. Escalates it. Waits to be told to stop, but nothing comes.

When he gets Chris’s dick out, Chris hisses.

“Nice,” Cody says, because Chris's dick  _is_ nice, whatever, he’s seen it before in the showers but right now it’s in his face, pink and wet at the tip. He reaches down and cups himself, squeezes. Nothing is urgent yet but he’s riled up from making out, lying there rubbing against each other.

He mouths over the head of Chris's dick and sucks for a minute, enjoying the way it stretches his lips. Everything is hazy, his world narrowed down to touch, Chris's thigh jumping under his palm and the soft hot skin at the base of his dick, his hand clenched tight on Cody's shoulder.

Chris says, “Cody.” It sounds very far away.

Cody pulls off and says, “Shh,” shushes him. He doesn’t know why he does it. It makes sense, somehow; Chris looks down at him and groans.

“Please,” he says this time, and Cody closes his eyes and takes Chris back in, goes further and further down until Chris is filling him up, surrounding him. Almost farther than he can take, but he’s relaxed and Chris is holding himself still until Cody starts to move, bobbing his head, sliding up and down.

He likes doing this. He likes doing this high. He likes how time slows down, how everything is more monumental than it was before. Chris is pushing past his lips, and Cody tastes salt and skin on his tongue. Takes it, all of it, everything Chris gives him.

Again, he pulls off.

“ _Hey_.” Chris doesn’t sound pissed, per se. More frustrated. “Come on.”

“No,” Cody says. “Sorry, I just—I want you to fuck me, can you do that, please.” He wasn’t planning on saying it, but it sounds right once he does. Everything is sensitized, and Cody wants to be surrounded. 

“Oh.” Chris blinks, lashes sweeping down. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I can do that.” Chris palms himself, sighs. “Do you wanna, uh. Here?”

Cody shakes his head. “Bedroom,” he says, and leaves all his shit on the table, sets the pipe down wrong so that the ashes spill out. “Whoops.”

“Who cares,” Chris says, even though they both know that he does.

They stumble down the hall to Cody’s bedroom, half-naked and bumping into each other. A spark passes between them each time they touch. Cody bumps the door open with his hip and tugs Chris in after him.

“I'm gonna,” he says, and strips, grabs the lube and condoms from where it's stashed in his nightstand. Chris’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn't say anything, pulls off his own shirt and sits in the bed.

Cody lies next to him, pulls a leg up and starts to work himself open. Chris is watching, and then he reaches out and touches Cody's shoulder, his chest, light absent touches that light Cody's nerves on fire.

“Jesus,” he says, adds another finger, and tilts his head back so that Chris can mouth at his throat. Chris's beard scratches there, too. Cody's gonna have stubble burn all the way down.

When he's ready he shifts up, gets on hands and knees. Easier to coordinate that way, when he can hold his own weight. Chris waits until he's settles and then deals with the condom before he lines up, blunt pressure, a tease.

“Okay,” Cody says, and Chris pushes in.

Getting fucked is nice. Getting fucked while high is _great,_ Cody thinks, still floating, rocking back against Chris. Now that they're actually doing it he doesn't have to hold back the noises he wants to make, can listen to the way Chris's breath keeps cutting off. Chris is holding onto his hips and Cody feels nicely secured. He wishes he could see Chris's face, see how dark his eyes are, but the angle is working for him, dick hanging heavy between his thighs. He's gonna need a hand sooner or later, tipping precarious on that edge of not-enough.

Chris lets go of him then and thrusts, hard.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Cody says. It hits him deep inside and so good, he wants more, and then he loses his balance, hands slipping out from under him. A half second later he’s flat on the bed, chin hitting the mattress. “Ow.”

“Um,” Chris says, from somewhere above him. “Are you— uh.”

“I’m fine.” He rolls over onto his back, scratching the stubble on his chin. Chris is frowning down at him, dick sticking out up in front of him, one hand on his hip and the other reaching out. He looks so dumb, and it’s so ridiculous, fuck, Cody _fell off his dick_. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he adds, and starts to giggle.

“I wouldn’t expect you did?” Chris asks. He’s half-smiling, getting over his surprise. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Cody wriggles in the sheets. They’re cool on his back, twisting underneath him. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

“Alright,” Chris says, and lies down next to him, cupping Cody’s cheek in one big hand. The incoming kiss is soft, and Cody smiles against it.

“I still wanna,” he says. “But like, lying down.” He looks at Chris very seriously. “I’m not a quitter, man.”

In response, Chris shoves a pillow under his hips.

“You’re not a quitter either,” Cody tells him. Chris’s eyes look very blue right now, and he wants to say that too. He holds back, and instead lets his legs fall open so Chris can slot in between them, press back inside.

It’s a relief, even though Chris is moving in slow, tiny thrusts. Cody hooks a leg around his back, hits Chris’s side with his heel. “I can’t fall off again,” he says, and lets the laugh spill out; Chris shrugs and starts fucking him with real force behind it, pushing the two of them up the bed.

Cody’s vocal enough when he’s not stoned, but it’s worse now. He can’t hold back any of the sounds, embarrassing groans from low in his chest, a couple gasps he’d never admit to. He likes— everything, he likes the texture of the bedding and the way Chris’s pupils are shot, and how there’s heat in his stomach, sharper and drawing his focus. He likes how Chris is quiet in bed, which is what Cody would expect, the few times he’s absently thought about it. He likes how Chris’s breath is unsteady.

“Please,” Cody says, then, and that’s embarrassing too, asking for it. He reaches up so he can pull Chris towards him, slide his hands over Chris’s back, seeking out the bumps of his spine.

“Okay,” Chris says, and snaps his hips, driving in. Cody looks down at where they’re joined, the upward slope of his hips, how his legs are splayed open for Chris’s dick. How Chris’s mouth is open, and wet, and he’s staring at Cody with a too-intense light in his eyes, desperate to make him feel it. “Please,” Cody repeats, then wraps a hand around himself, tries to match his strokes with Chris’s thrusts.

He’s not ready for it to be over, but he needs to to be over, needs to come, wants to come with Chris inside him. Cody jerks himself off fast and tight, watches Chris fucking stare at him, devouring him with his eyes, and when Chris says, “Yeah, do it, _do_ it—” Cody does, coming hot and messy all over his stomach before he collapses, strings cut, breath knocked out of him.

Chris slows, checking in, but Cody waves a hand at him.

“Go ahead,” he says. “‘M just, you know. Wow, dude.”

“Not gonna take a lot more,” Chris says, ducks his head, and Cody does his best to meet him, trailing fingers through the come on his abs. Doesn’t hold back when the aftershocks make him moan, and he thinks Chris likes it, judging from how ragged his rhythm gets, until he fucks hard into Cody and stays there, comes.

Eventually Chris pulls out, and Cody flops over, before he remembering there’s jizz all over his stomach. He’s not that high anymore, but he’s not not high either, riding the endorphins as much as the weed.

Chris shifts next to him. It feels uncertain, but Cody knows he doesn't want to be left alone. He doesn't want this to end up on the list of ways he's fucked up as a roommate.

“I think I need a nap,” he says. He licks his lips. They’re so dry all of a sudden. “Do you wanna take a nap?”

Chris presses his palms against his eyes. His mouth is red and his eyes are red. “What?”

“Nap.” Cody goes for broke. “Here. In my bed. I changed the sheets yesterday, I promise.”

“You came all over those sheets.” But Chris shrugs, then nudges Cody into the wet spot. “A nap sounds nice.”

“Fuck you, man.” Cody stretches, curling his toes. He wriggles closer to Chris, slinging an arm around his waist. Chris stiffens, then relaxes into it.

“We can get burgers later,” Chris says, face tucked against Cody's shoulder, and then he closes his eyes.

Cody does too, content. It's a plan.


End file.
